


Insomnia

by Kolivans (arka_r)



Series: MOSSverse [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, They/Them Pronouns Kolivan, Voltron Whump Week 2017, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arka_r/pseuds/Kolivans
Summary: Some Blades jokingly referred to them as ‘The Ghost’ who never failed to spook the night-cycle shift to no end. Antok called them ‘paranoid’.Ulaz had a better term: ‘post traumatic stress disorder-induced anxiety’.





	Insomnia

Kolivan knew the hallways inside the Blade of Marmora Headquarters as intimately as each strand of their bond. They knew each nook and cranny, each bolt and beam, each shortcut that would take them somewhere a couple of  _dobosh_  faster.

 

Whenever they found themself unable to sleep, they would lurk the hallways to make sure that those who were on duty during night-cycle shift were doing their job properly. Just to make sure that everything were fully operational. That no Empire battleship would sail past the solar flare to destroy the small asteroid where the base was built.

 

Some Blades jokingly referred to them as ‘The Ghost’ who never failed to spook the night-cycle shift to no end. Antok called them ‘paranoid’. Ulaz had a better term: ‘post traumatic stress disorder-induced anxiety’.

 

Kolivan  _hated_  that term with every part of their being. It made them sound…  _weak_. 

 

Growing up in an Empire colony, there was no helping the Imperium doctrines and propaganda seeping into their internal musings– this, they knew. And they  _tried_ , by the stars, they  _did_  try not to think of themself that way. That disease was not a weakness and the disease of the mind did not define them as a being.

 

“ _Brain is an organ_ ”, they remembered Ulaz had told him. “ _Mental illness is the disease of the brain. We treat it just like how we treat diseases of other organs._ ”

 

“ _With the healing pods?_ ” Kolivan had been hopeful then, that it would be as easy as healing broken bones or Exter infection.

 

But the path to recovery wasn’t that simple. They had to take therapies and medications. There were times when they were unfit to lead their fellow Blades– again, this didn’t reduce their capability to lead when they were  _actually_  capable to lead.

 

They remembered that particular conversation with Antok when Kolivan had expressed their doubt– that maybe the organization should vote for a new Leader of the Blade, to replace them with someone less… unstable.

 

“ _Remember when you were down with Trillian coughs for ten dral and I had to fill you in? _This is no different from that.__ ” 

 

There was still a small part of them that still made them doubt themself, though. This was also something that they couldn’t help– they  _knew_  this.

 

Kolivan shook their head and took a turn to the left. It was only then they realized when their legs had carried them: Slav’s workshop.

 

The genius Bytor had his own workshop separate to the Axocarian Maestro and other engineers in the Headquarters. This arrangement was mostly for everyone’s sanity, since Slav had an obsession to micromanage  _every single damn thing_.

 

He also had another kind of illness that stemmed from the same root as Kolivan’s own illness: trauma.

 

“Oh, there you are!” Slav chirped as if he was expecting them. “Here, hold this for a par-tick!”

 

Before they knew it, he already shoved a smooth metal… tubing thing as he scampered off into some kind of a gutted out machinery. Wires hung out of it like intestines with engine fluids dripping like blood. It was morbidly fascinating, in a way.

 

So it seemed they were acting as Slav’s assistant for the night-cycle. Again. Not that Kolivan minded. Slav’s work was extremely important to the Blade of Marmora; he designed  _all_  their security system.

 

And to be truth? Kolivan felt even more secure knowing that their security systems were designed by someone just like them, someone who checked everything a hundred times over just to make sure that everything worked without a glitch.

 

Kolivan took another deep breath, letting the smell of grease and engine oil soothe their nerves.

 

Working together with Slav like this made them lose track of time and it was… cathartic, in a way. Slav skittered around the workshop, bossing them around to hold things for him, hand things over to him, lift several heavy things, and operate the workshop machinery. Whatever Slav was working on, it didn’t look like anything they had seen before.

 

“What is this actually?” they eventually asked, unable to hold back the curiosity tickling at the back of their mind. 

 

“t’s supposed to be the new solar barrier… I think”, Slav rubbed his chin, smearing purplish grease there.

 

“You  _think?_ ” Kolivan blinked.

 

“Well, this is purely experimental, but if we can harness the energy from the binary black holes, we can probably generate a solar barrier strong enough to fight the gravitational pull from the binary black holes for another…” Slav muttered something under his breath, before continuing. “… fifty  _dralsa_ , if my math is correct.”

 

The downside to build their Headquarters between the binary black holes: there was a time limit to their operation– one hundred  _dralsa_ , if Slav’s calculations were correct. Eventually, the black holes would tear the blue supergiant star apart and the small asteroid where the Headquarters was built would be pulled into one of the black holes.

 

Taking down the Galra Empire that had been spreading into every crevice of the Universe for the last ten thousand  _dralsa_  was a long, grueling work. That was why they needed to push back the time limit by prolonging the blue supergiant star’s life.

 

“That’s not enough time. I need more time”, Kolivan insisted. “And what if your math is incorrect?”

 

A dark look passed over Slav’s face. Kolivan knew then that they overstepped a line.

 

Worry gnawed in their mind once again, but before they could say anything, Slav already went back into the generator, muttering up a storm while he worked. Kolivan’s ears caught glimpses of rapid-fire calculations and somewhat, it eased them if only for a bit.

 

Slav  _did_ try his best. Both of them were doing  _something._

 

And that was the most important thing.


End file.
